Laugh Til It Hurts
by girl in the glen
Summary: It sometimes happens at the most inopportune times. Written for PicFic at Section VII on LJ.


Napoleon was watching intently as his partner engaged in a conversation that he hoped would gain the information they sought. Illya's voice rose to a higher register than normal, alerting the American to possible complications. The other man, known only by his code name Vesuvius, was living up to that as he shouted and spewed what must have been expletives in a language unknown to Napoleon.

Illya was incensed at the attitude of this Vesuvius character. His complete lack of any moral compass was evident as he continued to haggle over the price necessary to buy information that could save thousands, possibly millions of lives. How could it be that this sorry excuse for a man should possess such valuable intelligence, and hold it hostage for the outlandish sum he now demanded?

Napoleon could see the Russian's ire escalating and hoped, somewhat reluctantly, that he wouldn't do anything violent to the offensive Vesuvius. Illya shouted something at his adversary to which the man snarled out something that he punctuated with a crude gesture, spitting as a finale. Thankfully he missed Kuryakin, otherwise all bets were off as to the outcome.

As Vesuvius stalked away, looking furtively over his shoulder, Napoleon was quick to ask what he had said. Illya was angry, almost more at himself than the other man. There was so much at stake, and the one person who could direct them to an answer was now walking away.

"What was he saying Illya? Did you get anything out of him?" The blond agent shook his head, a miserable sense of failure suddenly enveloping his mind and emotions. He had let his temper get the best of him, and at what cost?

"He said 'When pigs fly'. I assume he means never." In spite of the seriousness of the situation, hearing his partner say that phrase struck Napoleon as funny. It was bad timing, of course, but he couldn't help laughing. Illya was frowning at the outburst, unable to see any humor in the situation.

"I didn't realize the Polish people knew that phrase." Napoleon choked on his laughter. _Damn, it just wasn't that funny; what was wrong with him?_

"Napoleon, this is rather unseemly." And then it hit the Russian; the absolutely ludicrous image of pigs flying, the pent up frustration of dealing with the fate of the world. And it did sound funny in Polish, which prompted him to say it aloud.

"Kiedy świnie zaczną latać." Both of them howled with laughter. Napoleon was bent over now, unable to stop, perhaps unwilling to try.

"Oh… oh, stop. Stop laughing, Illya. Oh…hehhehhh…"

A few minutes later they did stop. And then they got mad. And then they formed a plan to persuade Vesuvius to do the right thing.

_Vesuvius heard the laughter as he made his way from the meeting place. Crazy Russian and his American partner. UNCLE would regret being so stingy, he was certain of that. Perhaps THRUSH would reward him for not divulging their secrets, although that was unlikely since he had stolen them. Better to stay away from that group as well as UNCLE. Was this a mistake __**he**__ would live to regret? _

As soon as Napoleon and Illya regained their composure they set off after Vesuvius. The man wasn't trying to conceal himself and so was easily spotted by the UNCLE agents. When he stopped in front of a shop window to look at a fur trimmed leather jacket, the image of the blond Russian appeared behind him. An unwelcome sense of foreboding flooded Vesuvius, for in spite of his bravado during their earlier encounter, Kuryakin's reputation as a ruthless opponent was well documented. Remorse for his refusal to cooperate came now amidst a torrent of fear.

"You look pale, are you ill?" Illya's voice was cold, a deep and stern tone that sent chills up the spine of the man he addressed.

"I… You have changed your mind I see, come to make me another offer." Vesuvius hoped he could bluff his way out of being killed by this assassin. THRUSH had taught him a few things: kill or be killed, and lie whenever necessary; never turn your back on Kuryakin or Solo.

"I have come for the information we discussed, and I will not take no for an answer. My partner agrees with me that you have two options: give us the information and live, or refuse and die. That is all.' Illya was looking through his prey, his blue eyes conveying the message as clearly as the words he spoke. Vesuvius swallowed hard, certain that a wrong move now would be his last.

"I can see you are resolved to bring this to an end, as am I. My earlier request was too much, I see that now. Perhaps another amount would be more acceptable to your people, a fraction of what we discussed…" Illya was shaking his head, a feral grin on his face that was more terrifying than the expressionless mask he had worn before. Napoleon walked up behind Vesuvius and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"No. You will give us the information we need, and out of the generosity of your newly reformed heart, you will do it without need of payment. Your greedy nature is being given a chance to reform." Surrounded as he was on both sides, surrender seemed a reasonable course of action. He had been foolish to act as he had before, as though these two were not the best at what they did. His advantage had vanished like a mist, along with the fortune he imagined would be his.

"It seems you have won, and UNCLE will have the information I had hoped to trade for good fortune. Just, please… spare my life. I have heard of your methods, all of THRUSH knows that you two are the most ruthless, the most dangerous of all UNCLE agents. I never imagined that I would be at the mercy of two assassins."

"Really?" Illya found it amusing to be viewed with such awe, but Napoleon was less pleased.

"I wouldn't use the term assassin, but you're not off the hook just yet, Vesuvius. What _is your real name_ anyway? I don't think I want to keep calling you Vesuvius."

"Anatole Wojciech. Please, do not kill me. I will tell you everything about this terrible formula. Just… please… " Napoleon shook his head, unable to believe he had a reputation like the one Wojciech was describing.

"Fine, we won't kill you, but you better not leave anything out _Anatole_." Napoleon winked at Illya as the blond cracked his knuckles, sending their captive into a near fainting spell.

Hours later in a safe house maintained by UNCLE and away from prying eyes and ears, Anatole divulged his secrets to the fierce pair of agents whom he had hoped to outwit. Having failed at that the hapless defector from THRUSH willingly told them everything, saving lives in the process as the information was quickly distributed to vital locations that would use it to thwart a number of devious schemes being planned by the Hierarchy.

After hours of interrogation, Solo and Kuryakin were preparing to head back to New York. Anatole, who no longer wished to be known as Vesuvius, was given a modest sum for his trouble and told to stay out of trouble. Being a former member of THRUSH, his chances of survival were not great, something that made both Illya and Napoleon uncharacteristically sympathetic to the poor man. In spite of their ferocious reputations, each of them was compassionate at his core, and after some discussion on the subject they were persuaded to offer Anatole an opportunity to work for UNCLE. He had, after all, been clever enough to steal the blueprint for this worldwide plot, and to get away with it.

For his part, the former Vesuvius was happy to accept, and promised to do his very best to make his two benefactors proud of him in his new pursuit of justice rather than world domination.

Napoleon found it amusing, if not very peculiar.

"You know Illya, I wouldn't have thought we would do this, offer Anatole a job with UNCLE. Imagine, a former THRUSH who defects, steals information and ends up working for us. I would have said it would be very unlikely." Illya smiled, remembering the phrase that had set them on a laughing jag a day earlier.

"Would you have said it would happen _when pigs fly?"_ Napoleon cocked his head, remembering the phrase and how it had sounded to him.

"I might have. It was funnier in Polish though."

"Really? I shall remember that for the future."

Relieved once again of the burden of saving the world, the two agents boarded their flight to New York with a well earned sense of accomplishment. The men welcomed the attention of several lovely stewardesses who would have decried Anatole's description of them as assassins. Suave, handsome and ingratiatingly polite, it was impossible to think of them as anything but heroic.

In fact, when confronted with the implausible image of Solo and Kuryakin in the roles they sometimes played, the response might have been a resounding…

'When pigs fly'.


End file.
